Agothdín, frowning, watched the man and the little girl out of the corner of his eye. A tavern certainly wasn't the kind of place to bring a child. Let alone a girl. But He was fairly sure that the man hadn't had much of a choice.

But his attention turned back to the mug of ale that the "lady in black" had given him. His slight fear was all but forgotten, and in it's place a interest and a great curiousity and taken hold. Who was she? Where had she come from? And where was she going? What had brought her here? And why had she paid for his drink?

Not one to let good ale go to waste he took a long swallow. He finished what he was going with his bow and decided to try and get some answers. He picked up his mug of ale and stood up to walk over to the lady in black. After only, the first couple steps he could feel every person's eyes following his progress.

The lady looked up as he approached and something like a grin touched her face. But it wasn't a nice smile, Agoth decided. More like an evil grin. The men at the lady's table looked up at him. He glared back, keeping his face neutral. One of them finally spoke up. "There's no room here kid."

Agothdín looked at him for a while, until the man looked away, he then picked up a chair from another table and set it in front of the lady. He nodded and held the cup up in a toast and took a drink. "This is a very fine ale. I would like to thank you. May I inquire as to the name of the lady that bought it for me?" He asked.

Looking at into her eyes trying to find something there that would tell him something about her. There wasn't much there. She was just so unreadable. A very interesting lady indeed. And he wanted very much to know more about her, and who she was. She took a breath before speaking. Maybe he would get some answers.

Eradan an Ailinel seated themselves at a table far from the lady in black, after having put their baggage in their room,.
Eradan didn't like her for some strange reason. She was beautiful, he had to admit that, but it was the beauty of a snake, glittering but deadly.
Soon a serving-maid arrived with their meals.
-Excuse me, my lady, could you tell me something more about the lady there?
He nodded to where the black lady was seated with her bodyguards or whatever they where.
-I know as much as you do, mister. She arrived about an hour earlier than you, with her men. Since then she has been drinking and waiting for someone. I hope this person will arrive soon. Persons like her are bad for business, they scare the customers away.
-Thank you.
He gave the girl a copper penny.
-I would keep an eye open if I were you.
-Do you suspect trouble mister?
-With that kind of folk? Always.
Eradan ate his meal in silence. Ailinel noticed her father's somber mood and tried to cheer him up with her merry chatting, but after some time she fell silent too having run out of subjects. Suddenly Eradan said:'Ailinel I want you to do me a favor. Can you promise me to do exactly what I tell you to do, tonight? Even if it seems strange or if you don't like it?'
-Why Daddy?
-I don't like the ambiance here. And I have the feeling that there will be trouble soon. I might be wrong of course but I don't want anything to happen to you. I've already almost lost you in Minas Tirith.
-I promise I will do what you ask.
'Good girl,' he said kissing her brow.
They finished their meals in silence. Eradan observed the room from the corners of his eyes. Suddenly he heard one of the black lady's guards say: 'There's no room here kid.'
He turned around and saw that a Gondorian man with a scar not unlike his own had approached the black lady's table and was now glaring back at the man who had spoken.
That man is either very brave or very foolish. Eradan thought.
- Ailinel, can you quickly finish you meal? I want you to go to our room. Here is the key. Lock the door and only open it if it's me or if it's someone who says that he is 'a friend of Claymore'.
-But Claymore is your ranger nickname! A lot of people know that name.
-Yes that's true, but few know that Eradan is the same person as Claymore the Ranger. Now go. If someone breaks through the door I want you to scream very loud. I'll come to your aid.
-Yes Daddy.
Ailinel scraped the last bits of food from her plate, took the keys and disappeared upstairs, quick as a frightened squirrel. Eradan followed her with his eyes and then loosened the sword, that had given him his nickname, in its scabbard.
Best to be ready. He thought.

Last edited by Claymore on Mon Jul 02, 2007 1:11 pm, edited 2 times in total.

"Well, and now that you've found me, and I've stupidly announced myself to you, what will you do? Don't say you only meant to deliver the letter," Fennel’s voice was weary. "I lied when I said the money was spent, I still have most of it. If I give it back to you, will you let me on my way?"

After the peddler made this new admission, Rylar allowed a few moments to pass before she finally spoke wondering if any words would help the man to understand.

“Veris, I am a messenger…I’m not a mercenary or a hired hunter. I was hired by the people of Willowbrook to deliver the items and the letter to you, nothing more. You are free to go, right now if you’d like, and I will not stop you…”

Whatever moment might have passed between them was quickly halted by the invasion of new arrivals. Four men and one woman who’s very presence changed the relaxed air of the inn.

As the group made their way to the table, Rylar waited until all their backs were towards her. It was then she carefully glanced over to Cidyllor and another imperceptible signal passed between them. Her gaze slowly shifted to the group as they placed themselves strategically at the table. For a moment, and only a moment, the Rylar let her eyes fall upon the dark woman whose focus was now on another patron.

It was a fleeting thought that passed through the messenger’s mind as she wondered what kind of life this woman must have lived. Rylar’s attention turned back to the peddler still sitting across from her. She smiled a soft reassuring smile as his eyes seemed to fill with a new growing concern.

“Veris, you are free to go…now if you wish, and it may be best if you do.”

Rylar held on to her story so tightly, that Fennel wondered for a brief moment if it were true. Rather than accept this idea, he found another answer, uncanny, and yet still more sensible than Rylar's claims. The bag of trick artifacts still lay between them on the table. Fennel eyed it suspiciously. The items could well be returning to him with a curse.

Rylar's voice trailed off. The peddler looked up to see a woman walk in. Her smile did not warm the heart; she had four men as her escort, and none looked the type to drink peacefully and leave after paying.

“Veris, you are free to go…now if you wish, and it may be best if you do.”

Rylar had also been looking at the group, and it did not make Fennel feel any safer. True, they seemed too big and rough a group to go hunting after one quiet peddler...but Fennel had already seen stranger things. He glanced back at Rylar.

"And you are staying?" he asked, not understanding why she would be concerned with his safety. The door opened again, this time to a man and a sickly-looking girl-child. Fennel felt somewhat relieved.

"I had it in mind to stay the night," he went on, knowing he was being foolish again.

(OOC) lol Sorry Claymore. I switched my characters on ya. I keep the same name but swap profiles, descriptions, attributes, weapons, ect ect. The name is the same, but the person is different. He's a Gondorian from Erech. My first couple posts on page two tell a good little bit about this Agothdín.

As Tyg chatted to one of her men, she was quietly aware that her presence was creating quite a stir among the other patrons, but then it always did in these sorts of places, not that she didn’t enjoy it. She loved playing with people, like a cat with a mouse, and their emotions. But hey, hadn’t she gone through enough torture in her life to warrant it.
A man enters the Inn then, with a small girl child. Tyg surveys the two of them with interest. ‘There’s a story there just waiting to be pulled out’ Tyg muses.
Just then the man from Gondor stands up, mug in hand, and heads towards her table. Tyg turns her head to watch him approach, ‘Ah, the mouse comes to play’ Tyg thinks to herself as she grins wickedly. She lets the scene play out for a short while as the whole Inn seems to hold its breath as the man glares at her men. Lurch, one of her men, finally says to the man “There’s no room here kid”
Tyg chuckles silently to herself as the Gondorian continues to glare at Lurch. Tyg gives Lurch a slight nod of her head. Lurch looks away with a shrug.
The gondorian grabs a chair and seats himself directly opposite Tyg, holding his mug up in a toast. Amused, Tyg leans forward lifting her glass to very softly clink against his mug. She takes a sip, looking at the man over the rim, her eyes sparkling with mirth.
"This is a very fine ale. I would like to thank you. May I inquire as to the name of the lady that bought it for me?" He asked.
He tries to read her face. Tyg, so practised at it, shows him nothing ‘The game is not to be over that quickly’ Tyg thinks to herself.
She takes a long breath before answering his question, leaning in over the table; she rests her chin lightly on the back of her hand, her elbow on the table. Rings glitter from her fingers.
A lady should not be so forth coming to give her name to a total stranger, perhaps it would be prudent to introduce yourself firstTyg answers in a low tone, meant for him to hear only. She speaks eloquently, seeming almost well educated.
Before the man can return his answer, Tyg notices a quick movement to her left, as the little girl darts up the stairs. Tyg glances almost imperceptively across to the man the little girl was with and notices a short quick movement she recognises instantly, as he releases his sword in its scabbard. ‘Definitely one to watch’ Tyg says to herself, as she returns her gaze back to the Gondorian.

"A lady should not be so forth coming to give her name to a total stranger, perhaps it would be prudent to introduce yourself first."

Agothdín sniffed. But he caught the slight twitch of her eyes right as he was about to answer. Looking in the general direction that she had, which meant turning his head almost all the way around, he spied the little girl's back as she disappeared around the corner.

He answered her as he turned back around. "Perhaps it would be, as you say, prudent to introduce myself first. As it is I shall give you warning first, then my name. Leave the man and the girl alone."

He watched her mouth turn up in a grin. Agoth nodded, eye's narrowing, though he didn't return the smile. "Take it how you wish. But my warning stands. Bother them and you shall find out why I'm called Magazad-Duer."

She sat silently watching him, along with every other patron in the Inn. But his demeanor suddenly changed. "But where are my manners? I threaten a lady whose name I know not. A lady who is gracious enough to buy a total stranger a mug of ale."

Agoth rested his chin on his hands, his elbows on the table. His left sleave fell down to his elbow to reveal a arm band that went from wrist to mid forearm. There were four tufts of red feathers, evenly spaced, poking out around the armband, on both the top and the bottom.

The other sleave fell to reveal a tattoed brand on his forearm. The letters and numbers were in the black speech of Mordor. He tilted his head to one side, as the lady glanced with interest at both arms. The resulting effect was the scar on the right side of his face was suddenly turned to the light, but in doing so, put the rest of his face in shadow.

At Agothdin’s warning to Tyg her men all turn to face them, two of them stand and go to walk around behind Agothdin, but Tyg only laughs and waves her men back to their seats. The people in the Inn all seem to let out their held breaths as disaster seems to be avoided. Tyg lowers her voice to a harsh whisper.
You think I care about a lone man and a little girl? The only thing I care about is the fact that he chooses to loosen his sword in its scabbard, and now your idle threats cause my men here to do the same, they are free men, anyone of them is capable of slaughtering this whole Inn, I don’t control their actions beyond their next pay, so take care. Understand this, I am not here to start trouble, in fact I can do without the attention it would causeTyg takes a sip of her wine and looks around the room, everyone seemed to have gone back to what they were doing, but no doubt some were listening in. ‘Perhaps meeting here wasn’t the best plan he has ever had’ Tyg thinks.
She places her glass delicately back on the table, and looks once more towards the Gondorian, who is watching her like a hawk staying quiet for now, waiting for a reply.
Now to a name, whats in a name? You decide to call yourself a name in the Black Speech, now that itself is very interesting considering not many know it. Whats more it seems to attribute to you that you have earnt that name, not that you called yourself it. So, scarred-slayer if it’s a name you want, perhaps you would like me to say that I am known in some parts simply as ‘Matum’ (death) but in other parts they call me ‘Burz Burgul’ (Night Shadow), since we’re talking Black Speech namesTyg notices the gondorian starting to get annoyed at her answer, she laughs at him.
Now, you started this by not giving me your proper name, instead you give me some label probably given to you by the terrified orcs you slayed.Tyg raises her hand to stay Agothdin’s reply as he opens his mouth to say something.
Let me finish. I was going to say, that although you obviously don’t wish to give me your name, I on the other hand, will give you the chance to call me Tyg, if you so wish.Now, I would be delighted to hear how you came about a scar like that, seems there must be a great story behind it?Tyg takes another sip of her wine, emptying the glass. She grabs the bottle and refills it as Agothdin replies.

Eradan tensed up when he saw the black lady look coldly at Ailinel.
Don't even think of hurting my daughter, he thought angrily. He almost went to the lady's table to tell her what he thought of the attention she gave his daughter but before he could do so he regained his self-control.
Calm down. She was only looking, she has done nothing yet. This isn't the right time to issue threats.He finished his own plate and waited until one of the maids took his plate and that of Ailinel away. He asked for a mug of ale, but when it arrived he only took small sips of it. He wanted to keep a clear head tonight.
He took his knife and a piece of wood. It was already half-shaped and it began to look vaguely like a horse with a rider. He began to remove small chips of wood. To anyone who looked in his direction it would seem he was completely absorbed by the carving in his hands.
He was however quietly observing the room. He was not the only one who was alarmed by what was happening at the black lady's table, but few were taking it as calmly as he did. Some people in another corner, one of them a peddler it seemed, barely paid any attention at all.
Strange.He brought his attention back to the scarred Gondorian and the lady. They were now talking quietly but only a fool would have thought the conversation was friendly.
He was to far to hear clearly what they were saying but he heard a few snatches of the conversation.
'... Leave the man and the girl alone...'
Eradan frowned. Was the man talking about him? It was kind of him to take up their defense but Eradan could defend himself.
Something else caught his attention again.
'.... called Magazad-Duer...'
Black Speech he thought.
He had never learned it but he had heard it often enough, back before the War of the Ring when he had been hunting Mordor's creatures, to recognize its harsh sounds. It was a tongue he had hoped never to hear again.
He sneaked a look at the strange lady's table. They were still quietly exchanging threats as if it was a casual conversation. The scarred man had put his hands under his chin revealing an interesting armband and a strange tattoo.
You're playing a dangerous game Gondorian. Eradan thought.
But then, he seems used to playing such games.he mused.
The black lady's guards didn't seem to like what the Gondorian man had said and they took defensive positions. Eradan shifted on his chair so he could better reach for his claymore.The strange lady however waved the men back, laughing. Eradan relaxed a bit again.
Not yet'... I'm not here to start trouble, in fact I can do without the attention it would cause...'
If that's the case , my dear lady Black, then I am a hobbit. You're one of these folk who love to play with people. Eradan thought sourly.
The conversation had dropped to such a low level that he couldn't hear anything. He could only snatch one other word, a name.
'... Tyg...'
Tyg, where have I heard that name before?Then suddenly he remembered. Tygarya, the assassin of Minas Tirith called Tyg by her friends. One of her victims had been brought in at the Houses of Healing when he had been there to find a cure for Ailinel's illness. The poor man had died soon after from poison. He took another look at the lady. If those two where indeed the same person, he had to be very careful.

One side of Agothdín's mouth turned up slightly in a grin. "Well Tyg, I shall give you the chance to call me Agothdín, of Erech. As for this scar," He traced a finger down it's length. "There is an interesting story behind it. There is an interesting story behind most things. But I shall tell you mine."

He relaxed and leaned back a little bit, before launching into his story. "I grew up in the shadow of Erech, and the Paths of the Dead. I can remember many nights, usually the darkest, that the dead would roam the streats of my town and the neighboring hills. During these times I would spend the night under my bed, my eyes wide with horror. I can remember pressing my face into the pillow as I would see a great ghost, clad in mail and armour walk past my window."

"As I grew older my father began to instruct me in swordplay. Even as a boy I was a rival for most grown men. My father saw this and decided that on my 16 birthday he would take me to Minas Tirith, that I may be allowed the chance to take up the livery of the stewards and help defend the great city."

His voice grew quiet and his eyes glazed over as he stared at a spot on the table. "It was on the way up to Minas Tirith. My father decided to take me on the path through Ithilien. There we were ambushed. It was just me my father and a couple of my father's servants, so we were easily outmatched. My father's horse spooked, and began to run uncontrollably, leaving me alone, the servants being already slain. I was knocked from my horse by an ax blow. It broke my helm inwards, giving me this gash." Here he pointed to his face.

"Orc medicine is crude and disgusting, but effective. I know not why I was taken prisoner, but I was. The orcs took me to Cirith Ungol. I don't remember how long I was there. All I remember is the dark, the smell, the horror, and the pain. I wished time and time again that an orc would spear me to end the pain, but none did. I don't know how I escaped. Perhaps it was staged. Either way I managed to escape. But in doing so I killed half the orcs stationed there. Hence my mordorian name."

"I managed to got to Ithilien where I was found by the Lord Faramir. Eventually I was taken to the houses of healing. Since then I've been an orc hunter." Then looking hard at Tyg. "And I'm a very good one. Something about my captivity changed me. I can run longer then any man I have yet met, I can see better in the dark then even an elf, and I can hear a mouse eating a piece of grain from across a room. Probably the most noticeable change is my understanding of the black speech."

"I met my father again a couple years later when he came for the Battle of the Peleanor Fields. But I didn't go home with him. So here I am today. Making orcs remember the name Magazad-Duer. And looking for a village that I can't find." He laughed, a genuine laugh, as he stretch out his arms out over his head and took a drink from his mug.

"That's my story. Or the shortened version of it. Not that there's anything special in my life not telling. It just is. What's your's? What business brings you here? Maybe we can help each meat our goals." Agothdín finished his mug and leaned back in his chair watching Tyg, waiting for her response whatever it was. Much more relaxed but still on guard. He liked unpredictable women.

Tyg sipped her wine and listened intently to Agothdin’s story, studying his face the whole time. She could tell there was still something he kept to himself, but that was fine with her, she had no intention of telling him her story, as he now asked. Tyg just laughed and waved over the servant girl to refill Agothdin’s mug, as she was filling her mens.
Sorry to disappoint you Agothdin, but my story is not as good as yours, and I’m afraid if I told it you would fall asleep in your cups Tyg laughs, but its cut short as a figure enters the Inn and stands by the door, making no attempt to walk any further in. He wears a dark green cloak and has his hood pulled far down over his face, the fact that you can see a long reddish coloured beard is the only thing that lets you know its a man.
Excuse me a moment Tyg says with a scowl to Agothdin, as her men all try unsuccessfully to ignore the new arrival, like they know him but don’t want to draw attention.
Tyg stands and moves around the table, brushing past Agothdin. Her cloak billows open ever so slightly on one side, giving Agothdin a glimpse at the arsenal that Tyg has strapped to her. Daggers everywhere, strapped to her thigh, top of her boots, in her belt, under her arm lying against her ribs.
As Tyg approaches the man, he turns quickly and exits the Inn again, with Tyg right behind him.

After about 5 mins go past, while Agothdin waits. Tyg reenters the Inn, that same sardonic smile back on her lips. She walks back to the table, heading for the opposite end, she whispers in the ear of one of her men. He nods, gets up and leaves the Inn.
Tyg walks back round the table and seats herself again, grabs her wine and drains the glass.
Another bottle! Tyg calls out to the bar keep, who promptly arrives with a freshly opened bottle. Tyg hands him another silver coin and he scurries off. Tyg grabs a loaf of bread still uneaten on the table, from her men. Breaks it in half and offers half to Agothdin silently holding it out, as she takes a bite from her half. She appears suddenly to be in a very good mood.
So Agothdin, how do you think we could possibly help each other out then?

Agothdín wasn't all that surprised. He hadn't really expected her to tell him much of anything about herself. But there was no harm in asking. He saw he body language change as the Inn door behind him opened. He knew that this was probebly the person that Tyg had been waiting for.

Excuse me a moment. She said as she hurried past him.

It was quite an impressive display of weapons that she kept on her person. Perhaps it had been an accident, perhaps she had done it on purpose. But the final piece of the puzzle had clicked into place. He had a fairly good guess now who she was.

After a time she re-entered the inn and sat down again in front of him. So Agothdin, how do you think we could possibly help each other out then?

He accepted the bread and tore off a piece and dipped it in the butter dish before putting it in his mouth, ale untouched. He'd had enough, this was no time to be getting foggy. "Oh, now that I think about, it I really can't think of a way that I could be of any use to Tyg, the cutthroat of Minas Tirith."

Her eyes twinkled a little but other then that she showed no signs of a reaction. He leaned forward half grinning, and dropped his voice to a conspiritory tone. "Oh come come now it was really all quite simple. Number one, your buffoons. No lady goes around with the likes of them, without reason. Number two, your manner. Calm, cold, and arrogent. Not at all the manner of most ladies. Number three, your name. Anyone who's spent any time at all in Minas Tirith has heard the name Tyg. Number four, your weapons. That was an awful lot of daggers for one lady. At least a normal lady that is. And finally number five, the man (assuming it was a man) that came to the door but no farther, whom you followed, and I presume spoke with about your next victim. Or perhaps rather your man's next victim."

She smiled, as if congratulating his conclusions. Agothdín continued to eat his bread, dipping each piece in the butter. After a while he continued. "So really as I said there's not really any way I can help you. Me not really being the assassin type. But you could help me, either guide me to my current distination, or join with me, and become joint partners in an orc hunting team."

He knew it would probably be fairly easy for him to conform to the role of assassin, and be a good one, but he wanted to wait and see how she responded.

Tyg’s eyes suddenly go flat. She leans back in her chair, turning sideways slightly so she can hook her arm over the high chair back. Her cloak pulls open, revealing her weapons once again, however Tyg does not attempt to cover them this time.
My, my, you do think you’re the clever one don’t you Tyg says sarcastically. However, my dear Agothdin, there are things you have obviously assumed in your rhetoric about who you think I am, so lets just put those things right first and foremost, shall we?Agothdin notices the severe change in Tyg’s demeanor, becoming like a snake about to strike, and decides to say nothing. Tyg continues.
For one, Agothdin, if you knew anything about me and what I do, you would know that I don’t kill for pleasure. I get no joy from killing, whether it be an orc or a high lord ripping off his people. Vengence is a mugs game. I kill for money, plain and simple. Emotions can’t get in the way of that. Call me cold? Why not, everyone does, but then I’m extremely wealthy, and they’re not. I do what I do, simply because I’m good at it, the same as a man becomes a smithy or a butcher. This is a business.But I must say, if my name is familiar to you, you must keep some very esteemed company. Commoners do not know what goes on behind their menial lives, and neither do they want to. As for the man who came in before…..Tyg stops a moment as she takes a few sips of her wine, she glances sideways to the three men at her table, who have all gone quiet as they listen to her also.
She places her glass back on the table before resuming.
Yes, the man that came in before… Well, from what I’ve just told you I am sure you can see your mistake in your assumptions. Did he for one minute look like the type, or even a messenger of the type who could afford my services? Well, he’s not….. no…..not the person I sit here and wait for. Yes, I’ll admit I wait for someone. You might get a shock to find out who if you stay long enough. But, I see your curiousity is building so let me satisfy it, as best I can. The man before was a scout, nothing more, telling me that ‘other someone’ is almost here. Do you think I plan to meet important people here and bring only four men? Tyg’s veiled threat carried across the room
Why do you think this out of the way place was chosen? Doesn’t take a genius to work that out does it? Tyg’s sardonic smile returns as she grabs her glass again.
The vibe in the Inn is now humming with barely concealed apprehension. No one however, looks in Tyg’s direction.
Tyg looks back at Agothdin, her eyes carrying a strange slightly mournful look to them.
So, now you know as much as your going to, you can return to your table as no doubt you wish to, and deny ever having met the likes of me

At the same time, Tyg’s men take an unseen que and all get up, grab their cloaks and head for the door. Once outside, they remain on the porch. One pulls out a pipe and starts to smoke it, leaning on the railing. The other two both lean up against the wall of the Inn, close to the door. Noone on the inside can see but some get the feeling of what the men are doing.

Eradan felt his blood run cold when he heard the black lady confirm his suspicions.
The only Inn I can find within a mile´s range and there is a professional assassin waiting for her employer inside. Just my luck.he thought ironically.
He left his table and went to the bar, drawing as little attention as possible. A claymore was too long to wield effectively in a little corner, he needed room to swing his weapon. He could better overhear the conversation from the bar anyway.
He didn´t like the turn it had taken.
What the assassin said next chilled him even more.
'...Do you think I plan to meet important people here and bring only four men?...'
What does that mean? Will she go away to meet this man of hers in another place... Or are more men coming?

He noticed the assassin´s companions leaving.
What are you going to do, Gentlemen? Waiting for the employer´s arrival, or for that of your friends'?He shifted the claymore's weight on his back so that he could better reach for the hilt.

Rylar’s eyes remained on Veris as he spoke but her senses and attention were monitoring the events in the room. The humming of voices filled the gap between their table and the table of the new arrivals and their Gondorian guest, but Cidyllor and the Rohirrim were closer.

"And you are staying?" The peddler asked and then glanced towards the door. The woman’s gaze followed his and watched as an older man and young child now entered. Veris appeared slightly relieved as the two looked back at each other.

"I had it in mind to stay the night," he then went on.

Another smile crossed Rylar’s lips as she gently sighed and tried one last time to explain to the peddler he was, as far as she was concerned, a free man. More silence passed between them as Veris seemed to be contemplating her words. Meanwhile, as the woman finished the last of her drink and set the cup down upon the table a new sense of uneasiness passed through her. A quick shift of her eyes confirmed it.

Cidyllor and the Rohirrim were gathering their belongings. A moment later they were crossing the room.

“We need to leave.” The elf said quietly now standing at the end of their table. Rylar nodded then reached over to gather her traveling bag and cloak.

“Veris, it was nice to meet you.” She said just before sliding out of the booth.

Rising to her feet she looked down at the peddler, “…and thank you for the conversation tonight.”

The look in his eyes still confirmed his lack of understanding, or trust in what she’d been saying all evening.

“Veris,” she began, “if you wish to stay here tonight you may. If you wish to leave you may. If you would like to travel with us you may do that as well, but it's time for us to go.”

Rylar, Bryttar, and Cidyllor turned. They made their way to the door of the Inn and then out into the dark, cool evening air. The three remained silent as they followed the dirt path from the establishment to the barn. It was as she entered her horse's stall Rylar knew Veris was joining them.

After the horses had been saddled, the four emerged from the stables. Just before mounting the woman glanced over towards the front of the Inn. The four men who had entered with the dark woman were now standing out front. Two were up against the wall and another was leaning against the rail smoking a pipe.

Slipping her foot securely into the stirrup, Rylar mounted her gelding and turned towards the three men who were also mounted. Then without a word they each urged their mounts into a slow gallop and rode off towards the direction of the moon.

Fennel did not get his answers. The woman stood up to leave, and her parting words were spoken in that same patient tone that frustrated the peddler instead of soothing him. The letter made no sense, the woman made even less. Fennel did not return the polite farewell, but only raised his eyebrows. She walked away with her two companions.

Across the room, the company was growing no brighter. Fennel observed them carefully. Conversations, small arguments, but it was all a hard talk between broad folk with steel at their sides. The brawl, if it came, would leave more than bruises.

Rylar and her companions had barely shut the door behind them when the peddler made his decision. Quickly and quietly, Fennel slipped out of the unfortunate booth, half expecting someone to cross his path and present him with messages more direct than Rylar's letter. His heart pounded a little faster, but no one paid him any heed as he left the inn.

The stable doors were open, and a flicker of light danced within. Fennel stuffed a hand into his pocket where the broken red string coiled, and patted it down against the fabric.

"You're headed straight into trouble, and you know it," he muttered under his breath. He was not at all sure of what he was doing, but it seemed clear that danger known was better than danger unknown. And Rylar had a secret.

He stepped aside to let a man and his horse out of the barn: it was one of Rylar's friends. The other was still within, and so was she. She said nothing when he found his horse and led it out after hers.
Fennel changed his mind a hundred times in the barn; a hundred times again in the courtyard. "A trap," he kept thinking, and though he agreed with himself every time, it did him little good.

In the midst of his ponderings, the tavern door opened and let four tall shapes into the night. They lingered by the stoop.

Fennel put a hand to the horse's neck, as if the animal had demanded comfort. He slipped a finger under the harness, and the red cord wound around it. He would take care of that, later. It didn't matter to Rylar anymore, but she was right. He had not been clever enough.

Perhaps even now, he was being very foolish. But he mounted and followed the three others down the road, looking back at the inn: the warm light in the windows, and the wisp of smoke that tickled the chimney, its little brother puffing from the pipe of the man who stood guard on the porch.

(OOC: Rylar and I have decided to continue this in the Scriptorium. We haven't made a thread yet and we're not sure of the title but everyone's very welcome to read it once we start it. . Thank you, Green Dragon Inn, for your hospitality!)

(OOC: Galadwen, just go ahead and introduce your character; "Inn" roleplays are open to everyone. Besides, the originator of this thread hasn't been around for quite a while.)

Fortunately, the large man didn't cause any incident after all. Thorwen moved to her friend Analin's table, and the two women sat the rest of the evening talking about what each of them had done since they last had met. For a long time, they hardly paid any notice to the people who entered or left the room, except when the woman and the man who had first caught Thorwen's attention rose to leave, accompanied by some other men. She would still have been curious to see the map that the woman had been studying; it had looked special, somehow.

Galadwen Aranel, poised upon her white horse, Moonstone, was beginning to tire. For 4 hours she had been riding and it had finally taken it's toll. She resigned herself to the grim fact that she was hopelessly lost. She, cross with herself at this point, should have heeded the advice of her sister Nestriliel, who suggested she leave before the gloaming. Once the sun had begun to set, it's glare had obscured the path that would have taken her north to Rivendell. Moonstone, also close to exhaustion, tossed his snowy mane as if to chastise Galadwen for her error in judgement. As the sun laid to rest 'pon the horizon, Galadwen was overjoyed to see an inn not too far off in the distance. Finally, a place to rest. As she approached the building, she noticed candlelight flickering from within and the sound of voices and laughter were music to her ears. Dismounting, she made her way over to a small watering trough and filled a bucket for her thirsty horse. To her discomfort, she noticed a man sitting on the porch, smoking a pipe, who eyed her with what seemed like bad intent. "Greetings, pretty lady", he said. "You know they do serve drinks inside" said he, obviously pleased with his attempt at getting her attention. "Aye sir, I am knowing that, 'tis my horse I was tending to". Walking up the steps of the porch, she shuddered as the hem of her cloak brushed the side of the man's chair. Ogling her, he chuckled, reeking with pipe smoke and in dire need of a wash. As she entered the inn, the scents of tobacco and whiskey seem to hang like a cloud in the air. Close to walking back out the door, she hesitated, as the aroma of freshly baked bread reached her. She hadn't eaten since this morning and she would be near collapse if she didn't satisfy the hunger that clawed at her. A woman and several men brushed past her on their way to leave and the woman nodded curtly in salutation. Sitting at a table in a far corner of the room, sat two women, immersed in what seemed like friendly chatter. How she wished she had a familiar face to keep her company.

As Agothdin returned to his table with a farewell nod of his head, Tyg leaned back in her chair again, resting the back of it against the wall, and waited.
Tyg watched as the group of people left, much to her relief. The less people in here the better, Tyg thinks to herself.
She gives a scowl as a young women walks in and takes a table near the front. Can’t those guys follow instructions, Tyg thinks to herself as she shakes her head.
She sips at her wine and ponders the reason for this meeting. Never had he requested such a remote place to meet. She instinctively knew that this ‘request’ was not going to be an easy one, and possibly one which she may not come back from.
Her pondering is suddenly broken by a commotion at the door, as one of her men opens it, keeping his hand on the handle he swings the door open, allowing another to step through.
‘Finally’ Tyg mutters to herself as she watches the reactions of the patrons in the tavern rather than watching the visitor since she already knows who it is.
The new arrival causes quite a stir, wearing a cloak of ermine, it is obvious this is a royal messenger, the hood pulled low to cover their face, making some think the face must be easily recognisable to any who haunt the royal halls.
As the messenger makes his way to Tyg’s table and sits down, Tyg glances finally to his face. She shows a sudden look of surprise that quickly passes. She leans in to whisper.
‘What brings you yourself to speak to me?’
‘This matter is most important to the whole of middle earth. Long have we put this off, but no more. Finally with the war won we can turn our attention to this matter’
‘Seems interesting, but if its that important why employ someone like me, surely you have many men at your disposal?’
‘This needs a delicate and inconspicuous hand, someone not of my court’
‘So, whose the target then?’ Tyg asks
With that request, the messenger slides a piece of paper across the table. Tyg picks it up unfolds it slightly and looks sharply up at the messenger, screwing the paper up into a ball in her fist as she crashes it back onto the table.
‘Your not serious!’ Tyg says in a hoarse whisper, failing to keep her composure.
‘It must be done before he gathers strength again, we all hoped it wasn’t true but now we know it is just a matter of time, but with the war we could not afford time to concentrate on him, and we were assured then that he was harmless.
However it is not true and time is fast running out now. We need to find him, without him becoming aware that our attention has turned towards him.’
‘Find him? Is that all that is required of me?’ Tyg laughs ‘Although that may take a life time’
‘It may at that, but depending on how his strength gathers will depend on whether you will be able to remove him yourself or we may have to call the Council, once we know his whereabouts’
‘I see, and the fee?’ Tyg asks ‘It had better be good, considering it will probably be the last quest I ever forefill.’
Again the messenger slides a piece of paper folded in half across the table towards Tyg. She turns it on the table and flicks it open, quickly shutting it again. A large smile on her face, she slides the piece of paper back.
‘Double it and you’ve got a deal’
‘Double it!’ The messenger splutters, thats already more money anyone is likely to see in a life time.’
‘My life is whats on offer, is it not, and even if I do survive this fools errand, I expect to be able to retire, happily and very very comfortably’
‘How about an extra third’
‘How about double’ Tyg says her grin getting wider.
‘Half as much again as the original offer and no more’ The messenger slams his hand on the table with finality.
Tyg appears to muse over the offer for a moment, taking a sip of wine. As she places her glass back onto the table, she looks back up to the messengers face and holds out her hand.
‘Done then’
The messenger takes her hand and shakes it in agreement.
‘So any idea where this search should start?’ Tyg asks as the messenger stands to leave.
The messenger pauses a moment and shrugs.
‘He was last seen by people close to me near the Shire’
The messenger then leaves the Inn. Tyg drains her glass and stands, heading for the door. She pauses at Agothdins table and he looks up at her with great interest in his eyes.
‘You offered me the chance to go Orc hunting, how about a better offer to you’
Tyg finally opens her fist and the crunched up ball of paper falls onto Agothdins table, as Tyg continues walking to the door.
Agothdin grabs it and unravels it. He gasps and standing promptly throws the paper in the fire, he turns just in time to see the door close behind Tyg. He glances back to the fire, wondering what to do.
He can’t get the image of the white hand, out of his mind.

OOC: Its been nice RPing with you, off to hunt down Saruman now but i may stop again again, you never know. I may even continue this story on starting an RP, haven't decided.

OOC: Sorry i have been away for so long i have been busy with work. I have altered the opening post so that you have more idea of where you are.

*Nevez walked down the spiral staircase and greeted his customers, he smiled at the look of shock and suprise on their faces, there would be time at a later time. he walked out of the front door and pinned a notice under the door knocker it read;

WantedBar Staff, Bar Manager and Room Keeper.

Job requirements, must be; dedicated, reliable, friendly, experience preferable but not essential, apply inside and ask for an interview if you wish to take on any of these roles,
thank you nevez

He walked back inside, he would rest easier on his travels if he knew that he had people he could rely upon running the Inn whilst he was away. He stood behind the bar smiled and asked nobody in particular "can i take your order please?"

A young girl came riding up on her horse. Bone weary and alone, wishing her brother was with her and not off fighting some southrons who had decided to wage war on some friends of his. Gil had put her in care of some travelers headed back toward Minas Tirith thinking she'd be safer there.

Little did he know that the travelers had other plans for the young woman. When Dori had overheard them talking one day she knew she had to get away. Quietly leading her horse she snuck away in the middle of the night and soon was riding hard in the opposite direction. Not knowing or caring where she went as long as she got far away. At noon, after two days of hard travel she found herself outside an Inn.

Getting down from her horse and tying her to the rail, Dori brushed off her skirt and headed for the door. Hoping to find someway of getting a room and some food she noticed the sign on the door. For a girl Dori had been well educated. She could read and write, and work with numbers. She had helped her father keep the records back at the vineyards.

Dori walked to the door noticing the beauty of the woodwork and the mithril doorknocker, she slowly opened the door and entered. Looking around she noticed there were not many patrons here even though it was noon. Walking over to the bar she spoke to the bartender. "Hello sir, I'm seeking employment. Could you direct me to the Master of this Inn?"

The bartender looked at this small young woman who looked as if she hadn't eaten in a week, and said " He will be here shortly. How about a nice bowl af stew and a cup of cider while you wait."

Dori started to protest that she had no money when the bartender interrupted " We're kind of slow today. It's on me" With that he poured her a cup of cider and went to the kitchen and got her a bowl of soup. Sitting it down at a table near the window he said "Enjoy" and went back to work.